Alexandria (Chapter 3 of 13)
Please see the masterpost for warnings, summary, and previous chapters.
The burning smell was what he remembered.
That, and his mother’s terrified face.
Dean hurtled downstairs from his room towards the nursery, small bare feet smacking on the stone stairs. He didn’t have a light. He didn’t need one. He had thought to get one of Daddy’s swords, but he was still too short to reach up and grab it.
At last he was at baby Sammy’s room. Mary, his mother, bent over the crib, her face lined with worry.
“Where’s Daddy?”
Mary gathered up Sam in her arms and turned to Dean. “Dean. Baby. I need you to do something, honey. I need you to take Sammy, and go down the back staircase. The back staircase. You know the way.”
“Yes, Mommy,” said Dean, obediently taking his baby brother in his arms. “Is Daddy coming?”
Mary crouched down so she could be at eye level with her son. “Yes. Daddy will come soon. Meanwhile, you need to take Sammy.”
Dean looked up in wonder. His mom was crying. He didn’t want her to cry. “We’ll be all right!” he assured her.
“Of course you will!” Mary told him, giving him a kiss on the forehead. “Now I need you to go. Right now! Please hurry, baby.”
Dean nodded and, clutching the baby to his chest, ran towards the back door. He had just crossed the threshold when he heard the front door crash open.
Dean turned. It was a man: a big man, carrying a sword. It was one of those special swords, one of the ones that made the hair on your arms stand up when you tried to hold it. Flames licked behind him, his eyes showing a weird, yellowy color.
“Greetings, Mrs. Winchester.”
“Azazel.”
Mary stood her ground. She raised an arm, and said some of her words. Mommy had powerful words. They could make you feel woozy, or pin somebody to the wall.
But the man didn’t fall. He didn’t look scared at all. Instead, he blinked, and his eyes seemed to glow yellow in the firelight.
He lunged, impaling Mary on the blade. She sunk to her knees, one arm still outstretched.
“MOMMY!” screamed Dean.
The yellow-eyed man looked up, flashing his malevolent gaze on Dean. But Mary, with her last breath, swung her arm, and the back door slammed shut, shutting out Dean and Sam.
Dean gulped. And then, clasping Sammy to his chest and choking back tears, he ran, down and down and down, away from the fire and the blood, and into the darkness.
And then he was sitting up in bed, bathed in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. Slowly, Dean came back to the present, gazing around his room in the darkness. He sighed and got up, grabbing a robe from where it had been tossed carelessly over a chair. He shuffled to the door and traversed the short that separated his living quarters from his office. He turned on a light, and sat at his desk, rummaging in a bottom drawer.
A very familiar knock sounded at the door. “Yeah. C’mon in, Sammy,” Dean called. He smiled up at his brother, grateful for the company. He located the portrait he had been looking for, and brought it out to sit on the desk.
“You’re up late,” said Sam, not commenting about the small cameo of their mother. He was clutching a couple of very large, very old volumes to his chest.
“Nightmares,” said Dean. He ran a thumb over the image of his mother's face. “What about you?”
“Well, I was thinking.”
“Never a good idea.”
“The bladesmith?”
“Yeah. Castiel. What about him?”
“He’s a magic user. According to reports.”
“I’ve seen him. Use magic, I mean.”
“Oh!” Sam plopped down opposite Dean and regarded his big brother. He carefully set his books on the floor. “So, we’re going to-“
“We’re gonna nothing.”
“What? Look, Dean. I know he's not what we expected. But we went through a lot getting him over here. Why not just let him in the forge-”
“Because I said so.” Dean picked up the portrait and inserted it back in his bottom desk drawer. He pushed the drawer shut.
“Dean.”
“What we're gonna do, we're gonna leave him in the kitchen. For now. Look, maybe I'll change my mind, but for now, just trust me, okay?”
Sam didn't look at all convinced, but he nodded.
“And you - you should get to bed.”
Sam forced a smile and picked up the volumes by his feet. “Got some light reading first.”
“Bookworm,” said Dean. “Find me my magic bullet?”
“Not yet,” said Sam, who rose and stretched. “But some day.”
“G'night, Sammy.”
“How the actual fuck did you get on prep?”
Castiel placed another slice of pineapple in his mouth. He fiddled it around with his tongue until it made a smile, he flashed at Kevin and Garth, who were now sitting across the table from him, open-mouthed. Neither of them seemed terribly amused - Samandriel had always thought this kind of thing to be hilarious - so, disappointed, he chewed up the pineapple while he considered. He found that though he generally hated the South so far, he liked southern fruits a whole lot.
“Knife skills,” he finally said. They were seated in the kitchen, but off in a relatively quiet corner. After Castiel had gotten several hours of blissfully uninterrupted sleep he had learned to his delight that kitchen workers, unlike almost all of the rest of the personnel, were not restricted to any set mealtimes. He had wandered into the kitchen, along with his two friends (he supposed that now Kevin and Garth were friends), expressed a desire to eat, and had then found himself at a table spread with an array of leftover bits of various breakfasts, lunches and dinners.
“Well, darn it all to heck, I knew it,” sighed Garth.
“I could show you,” Castiel offered, fingering his knife. He found that although it was of inferior construction, it was more convenient to carry around than his sword. And Crowley had warned him against carrying swords in the kitchen. It did make sense: it could probably trip someone, or turn over a pot.
“Seriously?” asked Garth. “I ain't never been one for pointy objects.”
“That's because your knives are dull. Sharp blades are no danger. Except to people who get in my way.”
Kevin and Garth looked at each other and nodded. This sounded promising.
The door banged open and Chuck was suddenly standing in their midst, clipboard in hand. The staff, as one, ignored him.
“Wait staff duty tonight. I'm looking for volunteers.”
“Where's Crowley?” someone shouted.
“The Winchesters are having some special guests so I'm in charge,” Chuck fired back, just as someone launched a towel at his head. “Who did this?” he sputtered, waving the greasy towel. No one replied so he tossed it on the ground. “You!” he said to the first person passing him by. “And you!” he said, identifying another person. He scribbled the names on his clipboard.
“Wait staff?” Castiel whispered to Kevin and Garth.
“They must be having Lucifer's crowd over,” Kevin told him. “Oh God I hate them.”
“They're from a neighboring fort, I take it?”
“Neighbors, but things ain't exactly neighborly, if you get my drift,” said Garth.
“That's why they tolerate Crowley's annoying ass,” said Kevin. “You bring 'em over and feed 'em, and according to tradition, it keeps everybody happy.”
“Does it work?” asked Castiel.
“No,” said Kevin.
“Not in the least,” said Garth.
“You! You three. You're all up.” Chuck began to scribble on his clipboard.
“But I didn't volunteer!” Kevin protested.
“I've never waited tables before,” Castiel told him.
Chuck narrowed his eyes. “It doesn't matter. Dean insisted you be on the list, Blade Man.”
Castiel began to fiddle with his knife, caused Chuck to high-tail it out of their vicinity.
“Don't worry. We can help you, Castiel,” said Garth.
“You'll have to dress for it,” Kevin added.
Castiel looked them over. “What?”
“I don't see the point of a necktie?”
“How do you keep unraveling it? Stop!” grumbled Kevin. But Garth was the one to try and re-knot the disaster around Castiel's neck.
“You ain't never worn a suit and tie before, Castiel?” asked Garth.
“I've had no use for it.” They had managed to assemble him a suit of clothes that almost fit, although he had to keep his belt tightened to keep the pants up, and they had finally rolled up the cuffs on the jacket. He stared critically into the cracked mirror on the wall. “Why is this necessary to deliver food items?”
“What exactly did you do back in your little town?” asked Kevin.
“I made swords.”
“And that's it?”
Castiel tilted his head. “Sometimes, knives.”
Kevin and Garth glanced at each other, Kevin rolling his eyes. “You didn't like, go date girls or something?” Kevin asked.
“I had a business to run, and two younger brothers to tend to.”
Kevin and Garth looked at each other again, and Kevin shrugged in defeat. “Now, you got the concept?” he asked. “The big thing is not to trip. Or get tripped.”
“I think I can maintain stability.”
“This is an important deal, dude,” warned Kevin. “This is the reason we snatched Crowley from Lucifer.”
Cas paused. “I'm sorry? Crowley was … kidnapped?
Kevin and Garth exchanged a glance. “Well, yeah, sure,” said Garth.
“He's a really good chef,” said Kevin. “So we stole him. Fair and square!”
Castiel looked deeply offended. “Is kidnapping the standard procedure for you people?” he demanded.
The door burst open and Kevin and Garth turned around. “Hey, we're changing,” Kevin grumbled. And then, “Oh!”
“Hello, Dean,” sighed Castiel into the mirror as Kevin and Garth both cringed back to the side of the room.
“Wanted to see how you guys were doing. Oh, hey, what the hell, Cas?” He held Castiel by the shoulders and spun him around, scowling at the veritable hangman's noose the bladesmith had fashioned his tie into. “This isn't right. Here.” He started untangling it.
“Is this an occasion of some import?” Castiel asked.
“Yeah. I suppose the guys have told you. It's a tradition. A dumb tradition.” He looked up at Kevin and Garth. “Could you guys maybe...?” He inclined his head, and Kevin and Garth scurried out of the room and shut the door behind them.
Castiel scowled. “I'm sorry-”
“Hold still, almost done here.” Dean pulled gently on the tie and then righted Castiel's collar. “You're great. See that? That's how you tie a Winchester knot!” He pulled Castiel around again so he was facing the mirror.
“I thought it was termed a Windsor knot?”
“That's where you've been wrong.” Dean pulled over the one battered chair in the small changing room and sat down backwards in it, leaning his forearms over the back. Castiel stood awkwardly in front of him as Dean raked a thumb over his mouth and quite frankly looked him up and down. “Okay, tonight: we’ve got people from Lucifer's outpost over. Including old Lucy himself. Oh, and don't call him that! At least not to his face. We're in a state of truce, though I don't trust the sons of bitches. But here's where you come in, Cas: they'll be carrying sidearms.”
Castiel gave himself a moment to mull over Dean's words. He self-consciously crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Swords?”
“Now, we're having a disagreement. Bobby thinks - you met Bobby, right? - now Bobby thinks they've got a source for high quality weaponry. I think it's crap. And Sam is neutral, because that's my brother for you.”
“You'd like me to make observations?”
“Hell yeah. You're the man for this. Believe me, those guys, they're not gonna give a waiter a second glance. I mean, even if they should.” Dean smiled awkwardly, as if he had just put his foot in his mouth, and then glanced down at something on the floor. “Uh. Anyway.”
“Your armory is utter shit.”
Dean's face shot up. “Yeah, yeah, you've told me.”
“I could craft better blades.” Cas straightened up. “In my sleep,” he added.
Dean rose to his feet, sweeping the chair away. “Well, we'll see. All right? Tonight, I need your help. We need your help.” He paused and then approached Castiel again, fussing with his tie.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
Castiel glared. “You kidnapped Crowley.”
Dean grinned mischievously. “Uh. I guess. Technically. But he totally prefers us to Lucifer.”
“You thought I was my father when you gave the order to kidnap me. Didn't you?”
Dean stepped back and bit his lip. “Look. It wasn't.... You gotta understand-”
There was a timid rap on the door. “Uh, Dean?” came Garth's voice.
“We gotta go, man!” came Kevin's voice.
Dean nodded curtly to Castiel and then opened the door and strode out. Kevin and Garth poured back in.
“We gotta get you to the kitchen,” said Kevin, tugging on Castiel's sleeve.
“Now, when you're taking orders for a table,” Garth told him, “always remember to go clockwise, so you'll keep it straight. And everybody gets a number....”
As it turned out, the night's assignment was easier than Castiel had imagined. It was a banquet, so everyone got the same food items at around the same time. And though the banquet room was noisy, Castiel actually preferred it to the kitchen, where Crowley was now screaming himself hoarse demanding perfection in each and every item.
Castiel heeded Kevin's warning about tripping, but he had always possessed a good sense of balance, so Chuck (who for some reason was temporarily overseeing the wait staff) soon assigned him to the tables with Lucifer's men, as they seemed to delight in harassing the kitchen staff. It was just as well, as Castiel was afforded a good chance to look over their weapons. He realized almost immediately, and to his slight annoyance, that he agreed with Dean: the swords looked good from a distance, but were rather obviously poorly made.
Lucifer himself was up at a table with Sam, Dean, Bobby, and a few men Castiel didn't recognize. He had been warned by Crowley himself to stay far away, and so had obeyed. He really didn't have much motivation to be around Dean Winchester, the person who had ruined his life.
“So what are you doing after your shift, angel?” asked one of Lucifer's men as Castiel reached over him to retrieve an empty plate.
“Washing dishes,” Castiel told him, straightening up and then rapidly side-stepping so another guy couldn't trip him. There was a round of chuckling Castiel didn't quite understand, and he stepped away.
He passed Garth just as the teen was himself being tripped, and managed to catch him by the back of his shirt and yank him upright before he spilled too much of his tray. “Thanks, Cas,” Garth whispered, and Castiel rankled slightly that Dean's new nickname seemed to have caught on.
He headed down a short corridor and pushed into the swinging doors that demarcated the kitchen. “Does this look like a finished plate to you?” Crowley was screaming at an unlucky soul hovering by a series of plates of main courses waiting to go out. The chef brought out a fresh clean towel and rubbed at an invisible spot on the side of the plate, was heaped with a great fat piece of chicken (Crowley had evidently located fowl somewhere that were not just bags of bones) and roast potatoes. Castiel's stomach growled, though it was fortunately a low growl. Between getting suited up and all the instructions he hadn't had a chance to eat before his shift, and the dish smelled quite rich and garlicky.
“All right, what are you standing there for?” Crowley barked at the loitering servers. “Let's get this chicken out before it dies of old age. You!” he said, poking Castiel in the chef. “Knife Boy. Where are you?”
“Table three, Chef,” said Castiel, glaring down at Crowley's pointing finger.
“This is going to the head table,” he said, pointing to a tray that was already filled. “You follow me. You seem to be the only idiot here not tripping over his own feet.” Crowley straightened up and marched out, and Castiel lifted the tray and followed him. “Pollo al ajillo,” Crowley announced as they arrived at the table. Castiel began to lay down plates, starting with Lucifer as the honored guest and then proceeding clockwise. They were seated around a round table, as Kevin had explained that short circuited any fighting about who sat where.
“Chicken,” said Lucifer.
“I hope and pray it will be to your satisfaction,” said Crowley, giving a slight bow.
Lucifer looked him up and down, and then turned to Dean. “You really ought to come over soon. We'd offer you a nice steak.”
Crowley bristled. “This poultry has been hand-raised. By myself. It is only the finest.”
Lucifer had cut a tiny portion, not bothering to wait for anyone else to be served, and popped it in his mouth. He smiled slightly and pushed his plate back. “You know what I'm really in the mood for? I'd really like a burger. I don't suppose you have anything like that around here?”
“You know,” said Dean, pushing his own plate back, “I could go for a burger too.” He nodded at his brother, who suddenly hopped up and went around to Crowley.
“Hey, yeah, let's see what we can scrape up,” said Sam, leading a fuming Crowley from the room. Dean looked at Castiel and nodded slightly. Castiel hurried over and picked up Dean's and Lucifer's plates, while the rest continued eating.
“You stole our waiter!”
Castiel swerved in time to avoid colliding with the loud guy from his own table. They guy held a wine glass, was slopping over as he swayed.
“Alastair,” said Lucifer evenly. “Why don't you get back to your table?”
“Hey, angel. Why did you abandon me?” Alastair slurred to Castiel.
“My name is Castiel De Angelus. It is not Angel. Nor is it Cas,” Cas told him, shooting a glare at Dean. Lucifer looked up in surprise.
Alastair took a lurching step towards Castiel, who deftly side-stepped. With a loud crash, Alastair ended up face down on the floor. There was a brief silence, and then the room erupted in laughter. He pushed himself up to sitting, rubbing his split chin, and glaring furiously at Castiel.
Dean shot to his feet. Lucifer remained in his seat, although his affable mien had suddenly dissolved. “Alastair,” he growled in a timbre that sent shivers through Castiel's spine. “Get back to your table. Now.”
Dean was looking at Castiel. He flicked his eyes towards the kitchen. Castiel nodded slightly and then, trying very hard to walk slowly and deliberately, headed back towards the kitchen, laughter echoing behind him.
Crowley was supervising a sous-chef in the preparation of a couple of hamburgers while Sam waited patiently at his side. Crowley looked over at Castiel as he set down the nearly untouched plates. “Just toss those out.” Castiel cringed, and his stomach rumbled again.
“Wait, can I have a bite?” asked Sam. “Mine is in there getting cold!” Castiel handed him a clean fork, and Sam bent over and served himself a big bite from his brother's plate. “Damn, this is delicious, Crowley!”
“Flattery … will get you everywhere. Yes, Castiel, go ahead! Better than having you serving with your stomach rattling like the oncoming Enemy.”
Castiel gratefully grabbed a fork and sent some pollo al ajillo towards his hungry gullet. Crowley turned back to the sous-chef to yell insults at his cooking ability.
“Does the Enemy really sound like that, Sam?” Castiel whispered.
Sam hopped up on the counter and put the plate on his lap. “No. They actually sound like nothing at all. By the time you see them, it's usually too late.”
Castiel shuddered.
“And sometimes … sometimes they travel underground! Then you just hear the ground rumbling. That's the mature ones. At least, I think it's the mature ones. I think they start off small and grow really large as they get older.”
Castiel stared at him, ignoring, for the moment, the delicious chicken on his plate. “Isn't that how things work with most creatures?”
“Nobody knows!” Sam threw his arms up, cause a bit of chicken from the end of his fork to go flying. “That's what's so cool about these creatures. We don't know how they reproduce, or even if they reproduce. We don't know about their lifespan. We don't even know what the hell they eat!”
“I thought they devoured men?”
“Meat can't be their source of nutrition, they'd die! I don't know. What we need to do, you know, is just follow them around for a while, see what makes them tick.”
“But … aren't you afraid of them?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You ask me, Cas, we're under a lot more danger from guys like Lucifer.”
“Other humans?”
“People. They're always the worst.”
Crowley had bustled over. “We have two … hamburgers.” He wrinkled his nose.
“I can take 'em out,” said Sam, reaching for the plates.
“No! Absolutely not. There are a few things, believe it or not, that my kitchen staff can still handle. Castiel?”
Cas hurriedly stuffed as much pollo al ajillo into his mouth as he could bear, and grabbed the plates.
“You didn't say you were half squirrel!” Sam laughed. “Thanks Chef,” he told Crowley. “We owe you one.”
“You owe me many!” the chef yelled after him as Sam followed along with Castiel.
“Where is Lucifer?” Castiel whispered as they neared the head table and saw the empty chair next to Dean.
“Aw, fuck him,” grumbled Sam. “Just don't tell Crowley. He'll stab something. Or somebody. We've got two burgers here,” said Sam as Castiel set down the plates.
“Awesome. I'm hungry as hell,” said Dean as Bobby glared. “Mmm. Lucifer doesn't know what he's missing. Thanks, Cas!”
Castiel gave a curt nod and stifled a garlicky burp. “Oh, so that's where my chicken went,” Dean whispered. Castiel blushed. “That's okay, glad it went to good use.”
Sam mouthed, “What the fuck?”, inclining his head at Lucifer's empty chair, and Dean shrugged. Castiel turned to go but noticed that some more kitchen staff were wheeling out a cart with the big cake the pastry chefs had whipped up for dessert. He turned around and decided to take the back way into the kitchen, hoping that Crowley hadn't yet dumped his plate of garlic chicken.
“Castiel De Angelus, I believe? Well, fancy meeting you here.”
He halted and turned around. “Lucifer,” he said quietly. How had the guy concealed himself in the shadows so well? It was creepy.
“Good, so we won't have to waste time on introductions. So how do you like your new job, scrubbing pots and pans for the Winchesters?”
“How do you know who I am?”
Lucifer smiled and extended a hand. “I have ears just about everywhere. I'm a big fan.”
Cas merely scowled at the extended hand. “A … what?”
“Why, your blades of course. De Angelus. You might not know this, but they're the only ones that really stand up to the Enemy. And that's my job.” Ignoring Cas's snub, he spread out his hands. “Protecting the world. We're the last line of defense!”
Castiel nodded, but didn't reply. He thought he should make an excuse and get back to the kitchen, but his legs didn't seem to work.
“So, we need to get you making blades, don't we?”
Castiel shrugged. “I don't know.”
“You don't know? I thought it would seem pretty clear. I know if you were living at my outpost, that's what we'd have you doing. Not scurrying around like some kind of … servant.”
“We're wait staff, not servants,” Castiel groused, not certain why the words had come tumbling out.
“You're defending the Winchesters? Really?”
“I need to get back to the kitchen.”
“Well, that's too bad. But I enjoyed our little chat.” Castiel had already turned around and headed towards the kitchen. “Castiel,” Lucifer called after him. “I hope we'll get to chat some more.”
Cas burst through the swinging doors, catching his breath.
“What's the matter, dude?” asked Kevin. “They trip you or something?
“Nothing. I'm fine.”
“We're supposed to be out serving cake. Hey, do you smell like … garlic?”
“Lucifer wanted hamburger.” Castiel turned and strode out of the kitchen.
“Wait. What?” Kevin followed behind.
Castiel made his way back to the banquet room. The men were all on their feet now, crowded together around the cake. Crowley was standing in back of it, looking it over pridefully as Dean held a knife and made some sort of speech. He must have just made a joke, as the men were laughing. Everyone had drunk their share of wine, and the room was noisy.
Castiel's eyes scanned the room for Alastair, as he wanted to avoid him. There he was, off in a corner away from where the main crowd had gathered, talking furtively with another man. To Castiel's surprise, it was Virgil, one of Dean's crew. Alastair, who suddenly appeared quite sober, was hanging on one of Virgil's shoulders, whispering something in his ear.
“Do you see that?” he asked Kevin.
“Those two? Figures. They're both dicks.”
“Virgil is from our staff.”
“So?”
“I think I need to warn Dean.”
“Warn Dean? Warn him about what?”
Ignoring Kevin, Castiel began to make his way around the back of the crowd, keeping an eye on Alastair and Virgil. He noticed that Garth was obliviously busing tables nearby, and he also noticed that Alastair and Virgil saw him too. He stopped, uncertain what to do. He wanted to get Dean's attention, but he didn't feel right abandoning his friend, not when both of the bullies seemed to have it in for Garth.
Castiel steeled himself and started threading back through the boisterous crowd towards the far corner. Alastair and Virgil split up, each one heading towards Garth from a different side. Castiel increased his pace, but Virgil reached Garth first. Garth straightened up from the table and, not seeming to notice Virgil, turned around as Virgil extended a foot to trip him. But for once the skinny teen noticed what was coming, and he managed to dance around without losing his balance. Virgil scowled and took a swing at Garth.
Castiel gasped.
Garth ducked and swung his tray full force into Virgil's midsection. The big man huffed and sunk to his knees. But then Alastair was on Garth, wrenching him by the back of his collar and throwing him like a rag doll. Garth smacked into the wall and started to sink down.
Castiel jumped up on the table and, threading through plates and dishes, ran across and hopped down just in time to grab Alastair by the back of the shirt as he lunged at Garth. Alastair grabbed Castiel by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall, where he suddenly froze when he felt Castiel's blade under his chin.
“Alastair!” At some point, people in the room had begun to pay attention. Lucifer and Dean had somehow whisked across the room to stand nearby. Alastair took a look at his boss and then, raising his hands, stepped back from Castiel.
“Castiel!”
Cas looked over to a red-faced Dean and lowered his blade. “Dean.”
“Get out of here. Now!”
“But, Dean-”
“Is said out! Now!”
Castiel breathed hard, glaring at Dean. He glanced over to make sure that Garth was all right. He was being helped by Kevin.
And then he turned and stalked out of the room, blinking back angry tears.
He marched down the hall and into the dormitory. He threw his few possessions into his bag, and, hiking it on his shoulder, grabbed his sword, and was away. Away from the fort, away from the desert, and most of all, away from Dean Winchester.
“I should get him.”
“I'll get him. We gotta get him before Lucifer tracks him down.”
Sam stood and watched his idiot brother tear around the room, tossing random crap into his bag. “You sure you're gonna need that letter opener, Dean?”
“I will when I stab him through the heart.”
“Dean! Look, it would be much quicker if I just go. I'm faster.”
“Yeah, 'cause you're built like a giraffe.”
“Actually, giraffes aren’t terribly fast. Their top speed-“
“Sammy! Do I look like I care?”
“And I'm the better tracker. And … to be honest, I'm not sure he's gonna wanna come back with you.”
“And he'd come back with you?”
“He likes me.” Sam gave a smug smile, partly because he knew it would make Dean slightly crazy. Not that he wasn't already slightly crazy.
There was a rap on the door, but before either brother could answer, they had a room full of Bobby Singer to deal with.
“What the fuck are you aiming to do, Dean?”
“He's going to get Cas,” supplied Sam.
“The fuck you are!”
Dean grimaced and picked up some salt-filled rounds. “What, did Chuck tattle on me again?” Dean tossed the rounds into his bag.
“Dean, those won't do much good without a rifle.”
“I know, Sam!”
Bobby planted his feet and crossed his arms. “And what if he don't wanna come back with you?”
“Then I'll hit the little son of a bitch over the head and drag his ass back here.” Dean zipped up his pack and grabbed a shotgun from the wall.
“Is there no appealing to your good goddamn sense?” railed Bobby.
“He's got no good sense,” smiled Sam.
“I'm going to get him,” Dean told him. “I'll be back soon.”
NEXT
The burning smell was what he remembered.
That, and his mother’s terrified face.
Dean hurtled downstairs from his room towards the nursery, small bare feet smacking on the stone stairs. He didn’t have a light. He didn’t need one. He had thought to get one of Daddy’s swords, but he was still too short to reach up and grab it.
At last he was at baby Sammy’s room. Mary, his mother, bent over the crib, her face lined with worry.
“Where’s Daddy?”
Mary gathered up Sam in her arms and turned to Dean. “Dean. Baby. I need you to do something, honey. I need you to take Sammy, and go down the back staircase. The back staircase. You know the way.”
“Yes, Mommy,” said Dean, obediently taking his baby brother in his arms. “Is Daddy coming?”
Mary crouched down so she could be at eye level with her son. “Yes. Daddy will come soon. Meanwhile, you need to take Sammy.”
Dean looked up in wonder. His mom was crying. He didn’t want her to cry. “We’ll be all right!” he assured her.
“Of course you will!” Mary told him, giving him a kiss on the forehead. “Now I need you to go. Right now! Please hurry, baby.”
Dean nodded and, clutching the baby to his chest, ran towards the back door. He had just crossed the threshold when he heard the front door crash open.
Dean turned. It was a man: a big man, carrying a sword. It was one of those special swords, one of the ones that made the hair on your arms stand up when you tried to hold it. Flames licked behind him, his eyes showing a weird, yellowy color.
“Greetings, Mrs. Winchester.”
“Azazel.”
Mary stood her ground. She raised an arm, and said some of her words. Mommy had powerful words. They could make you feel woozy, or pin somebody to the wall.
But the man didn’t fall. He didn’t look scared at all. Instead, he blinked, and his eyes seemed to glow yellow in the firelight.
He lunged, impaling Mary on the blade. She sunk to her knees, one arm still outstretched.
“MOMMY!” screamed Dean.
The yellow-eyed man looked up, flashing his malevolent gaze on Dean. But Mary, with her last breath, swung her arm, and the back door slammed shut, shutting out Dean and Sam.
Dean gulped. And then, clasping Sammy to his chest and choking back tears, he ran, down and down and down, away from the fire and the blood, and into the darkness.
And then he was sitting up in bed, bathed in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. Slowly, Dean came back to the present, gazing around his room in the darkness. He sighed and got up, grabbing a robe from where it had been tossed carelessly over a chair. He shuffled to the door and traversed the short that separated his living quarters from his office. He turned on a light, and sat at his desk, rummaging in a bottom drawer.
A very familiar knock sounded at the door. “Yeah. C’mon in, Sammy,” Dean called. He smiled up at his brother, grateful for the company. He located the portrait he had been looking for, and brought it out to sit on the desk.
“You’re up late,” said Sam, not commenting about the small cameo of their mother. He was clutching a couple of very large, very old volumes to his chest.
“Nightmares,” said Dean. He ran a thumb over the image of his mother's face. “What about you?”
“Well, I was thinking.”
“Never a good idea.”
“The bladesmith?”
“Yeah. Castiel. What about him?”
“He’s a magic user. According to reports.”
“I’ve seen him. Use magic, I mean.”
“Oh!” Sam plopped down opposite Dean and regarded his big brother. He carefully set his books on the floor. “So, we’re going to-“
“We’re gonna nothing.”
“What? Look, Dean. I know he's not what we expected. But we went through a lot getting him over here. Why not just let him in the forge-”
“Because I said so.” Dean picked up the portrait and inserted it back in his bottom desk drawer. He pushed the drawer shut.
“Dean.”
“What we're gonna do, we're gonna leave him in the kitchen. For now. Look, maybe I'll change my mind, but for now, just trust me, okay?”
Sam didn't look at all convinced, but he nodded.
“And you - you should get to bed.”
Sam forced a smile and picked up the volumes by his feet. “Got some light reading first.”
“Bookworm,” said Dean. “Find me my magic bullet?”
“Not yet,” said Sam, who rose and stretched. “But some day.”
“G'night, Sammy.”
“How the actual fuck did you get on prep?”
Castiel placed another slice of pineapple in his mouth. He fiddled it around with his tongue until it made a smile, he flashed at Kevin and Garth, who were now sitting across the table from him, open-mouthed. Neither of them seemed terribly amused - Samandriel had always thought this kind of thing to be hilarious - so, disappointed, he chewed up the pineapple while he considered. He found that though he generally hated the South so far, he liked southern fruits a whole lot.
“Knife skills,” he finally said. They were seated in the kitchen, but off in a relatively quiet corner. After Castiel had gotten several hours of blissfully uninterrupted sleep he had learned to his delight that kitchen workers, unlike almost all of the rest of the personnel, were not restricted to any set mealtimes. He had wandered into the kitchen, along with his two friends (he supposed that now Kevin and Garth were friends), expressed a desire to eat, and had then found himself at a table spread with an array of leftover bits of various breakfasts, lunches and dinners.
“Well, darn it all to heck, I knew it,” sighed Garth.
“I could show you,” Castiel offered, fingering his knife. He found that although it was of inferior construction, it was more convenient to carry around than his sword. And Crowley had warned him against carrying swords in the kitchen. It did make sense: it could probably trip someone, or turn over a pot.
“Seriously?” asked Garth. “I ain't never been one for pointy objects.”
“That's because your knives are dull. Sharp blades are no danger. Except to people who get in my way.”
Kevin and Garth looked at each other and nodded. This sounded promising.
The door banged open and Chuck was suddenly standing in their midst, clipboard in hand. The staff, as one, ignored him.
“Wait staff duty tonight. I'm looking for volunteers.”
“Where's Crowley?” someone shouted.
“The Winchesters are having some special guests so I'm in charge,” Chuck fired back, just as someone launched a towel at his head. “Who did this?” he sputtered, waving the greasy towel. No one replied so he tossed it on the ground. “You!” he said to the first person passing him by. “And you!” he said, identifying another person. He scribbled the names on his clipboard.
“Wait staff?” Castiel whispered to Kevin and Garth.
“They must be having Lucifer's crowd over,” Kevin told him. “Oh God I hate them.”
“They're from a neighboring fort, I take it?”
“Neighbors, but things ain't exactly neighborly, if you get my drift,” said Garth.
“That's why they tolerate Crowley's annoying ass,” said Kevin. “You bring 'em over and feed 'em, and according to tradition, it keeps everybody happy.”
“Does it work?” asked Castiel.
“No,” said Kevin.
“Not in the least,” said Garth.
“You! You three. You're all up.” Chuck began to scribble on his clipboard.
“But I didn't volunteer!” Kevin protested.
“I've never waited tables before,” Castiel told him.
Chuck narrowed his eyes. “It doesn't matter. Dean insisted you be on the list, Blade Man.”
Castiel began to fiddle with his knife, caused Chuck to high-tail it out of their vicinity.
“Don't worry. We can help you, Castiel,” said Garth.
“You'll have to dress for it,” Kevin added.
Castiel looked them over. “What?”
“I don't see the point of a necktie?”
“How do you keep unraveling it? Stop!” grumbled Kevin. But Garth was the one to try and re-knot the disaster around Castiel's neck.
“You ain't never worn a suit and tie before, Castiel?” asked Garth.
“I've had no use for it.” They had managed to assemble him a suit of clothes that almost fit, although he had to keep his belt tightened to keep the pants up, and they had finally rolled up the cuffs on the jacket. He stared critically into the cracked mirror on the wall. “Why is this necessary to deliver food items?”
“What exactly did you do back in your little town?” asked Kevin.
“I made swords.”
“And that's it?”
Castiel tilted his head. “Sometimes, knives.”
Kevin and Garth glanced at each other, Kevin rolling his eyes. “You didn't like, go date girls or something?” Kevin asked.
“I had a business to run, and two younger brothers to tend to.”
Kevin and Garth looked at each other again, and Kevin shrugged in defeat. “Now, you got the concept?” he asked. “The big thing is not to trip. Or get tripped.”
“I think I can maintain stability.”
“This is an important deal, dude,” warned Kevin. “This is the reason we snatched Crowley from Lucifer.”
Cas paused. “I'm sorry? Crowley was … kidnapped?
Kevin and Garth exchanged a glance. “Well, yeah, sure,” said Garth.
“He's a really good chef,” said Kevin. “So we stole him. Fair and square!”
Castiel looked deeply offended. “Is kidnapping the standard procedure for you people?” he demanded.
The door burst open and Kevin and Garth turned around. “Hey, we're changing,” Kevin grumbled. And then, “Oh!”
“Hello, Dean,” sighed Castiel into the mirror as Kevin and Garth both cringed back to the side of the room.
“Wanted to see how you guys were doing. Oh, hey, what the hell, Cas?” He held Castiel by the shoulders and spun him around, scowling at the veritable hangman's noose the bladesmith had fashioned his tie into. “This isn't right. Here.” He started untangling it.
“Is this an occasion of some import?” Castiel asked.
“Yeah. I suppose the guys have told you. It's a tradition. A dumb tradition.” He looked up at Kevin and Garth. “Could you guys maybe...?” He inclined his head, and Kevin and Garth scurried out of the room and shut the door behind them.
Castiel scowled. “I'm sorry-”
“Hold still, almost done here.” Dean pulled gently on the tie and then righted Castiel's collar. “You're great. See that? That's how you tie a Winchester knot!” He pulled Castiel around again so he was facing the mirror.
“I thought it was termed a Windsor knot?”
“That's where you've been wrong.” Dean pulled over the one battered chair in the small changing room and sat down backwards in it, leaning his forearms over the back. Castiel stood awkwardly in front of him as Dean raked a thumb over his mouth and quite frankly looked him up and down. “Okay, tonight: we’ve got people from Lucifer's outpost over. Including old Lucy himself. Oh, and don't call him that! At least not to his face. We're in a state of truce, though I don't trust the sons of bitches. But here's where you come in, Cas: they'll be carrying sidearms.”
Castiel gave himself a moment to mull over Dean's words. He self-consciously crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Swords?”
“Now, we're having a disagreement. Bobby thinks - you met Bobby, right? - now Bobby thinks they've got a source for high quality weaponry. I think it's crap. And Sam is neutral, because that's my brother for you.”
“You'd like me to make observations?”
“Hell yeah. You're the man for this. Believe me, those guys, they're not gonna give a waiter a second glance. I mean, even if they should.” Dean smiled awkwardly, as if he had just put his foot in his mouth, and then glanced down at something on the floor. “Uh. Anyway.”
“Your armory is utter shit.”
Dean's face shot up. “Yeah, yeah, you've told me.”
“I could craft better blades.” Cas straightened up. “In my sleep,” he added.
Dean rose to his feet, sweeping the chair away. “Well, we'll see. All right? Tonight, I need your help. We need your help.” He paused and then approached Castiel again, fussing with his tie.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
Castiel glared. “You kidnapped Crowley.”
Dean grinned mischievously. “Uh. I guess. Technically. But he totally prefers us to Lucifer.”
“You thought I was my father when you gave the order to kidnap me. Didn't you?”
Dean stepped back and bit his lip. “Look. It wasn't.... You gotta understand-”
There was a timid rap on the door. “Uh, Dean?” came Garth's voice.
“We gotta go, man!” came Kevin's voice.
Dean nodded curtly to Castiel and then opened the door and strode out. Kevin and Garth poured back in.
“We gotta get you to the kitchen,” said Kevin, tugging on Castiel's sleeve.
“Now, when you're taking orders for a table,” Garth told him, “always remember to go clockwise, so you'll keep it straight. And everybody gets a number....”
As it turned out, the night's assignment was easier than Castiel had imagined. It was a banquet, so everyone got the same food items at around the same time. And though the banquet room was noisy, Castiel actually preferred it to the kitchen, where Crowley was now screaming himself hoarse demanding perfection in each and every item.
Castiel heeded Kevin's warning about tripping, but he had always possessed a good sense of balance, so Chuck (who for some reason was temporarily overseeing the wait staff) soon assigned him to the tables with Lucifer's men, as they seemed to delight in harassing the kitchen staff. It was just as well, as Castiel was afforded a good chance to look over their weapons. He realized almost immediately, and to his slight annoyance, that he agreed with Dean: the swords looked good from a distance, but were rather obviously poorly made.
Lucifer himself was up at a table with Sam, Dean, Bobby, and a few men Castiel didn't recognize. He had been warned by Crowley himself to stay far away, and so had obeyed. He really didn't have much motivation to be around Dean Winchester, the person who had ruined his life.
“So what are you doing after your shift, angel?” asked one of Lucifer's men as Castiel reached over him to retrieve an empty plate.
“Washing dishes,” Castiel told him, straightening up and then rapidly side-stepping so another guy couldn't trip him. There was a round of chuckling Castiel didn't quite understand, and he stepped away.
He passed Garth just as the teen was himself being tripped, and managed to catch him by the back of his shirt and yank him upright before he spilled too much of his tray. “Thanks, Cas,” Garth whispered, and Castiel rankled slightly that Dean's new nickname seemed to have caught on.
He headed down a short corridor and pushed into the swinging doors that demarcated the kitchen. “Does this look like a finished plate to you?” Crowley was screaming at an unlucky soul hovering by a series of plates of main courses waiting to go out. The chef brought out a fresh clean towel and rubbed at an invisible spot on the side of the plate, was heaped with a great fat piece of chicken (Crowley had evidently located fowl somewhere that were not just bags of bones) and roast potatoes. Castiel's stomach growled, though it was fortunately a low growl. Between getting suited up and all the instructions he hadn't had a chance to eat before his shift, and the dish smelled quite rich and garlicky.
“All right, what are you standing there for?” Crowley barked at the loitering servers. “Let's get this chicken out before it dies of old age. You!” he said, poking Castiel in the chef. “Knife Boy. Where are you?”
“Table three, Chef,” said Castiel, glaring down at Crowley's pointing finger.
“This is going to the head table,” he said, pointing to a tray that was already filled. “You follow me. You seem to be the only idiot here not tripping over his own feet.” Crowley straightened up and marched out, and Castiel lifted the tray and followed him. “Pollo al ajillo,” Crowley announced as they arrived at the table. Castiel began to lay down plates, starting with Lucifer as the honored guest and then proceeding clockwise. They were seated around a round table, as Kevin had explained that short circuited any fighting about who sat where.
“Chicken,” said Lucifer.
“I hope and pray it will be to your satisfaction,” said Crowley, giving a slight bow.
Lucifer looked him up and down, and then turned to Dean. “You really ought to come over soon. We'd offer you a nice steak.”
Crowley bristled. “This poultry has been hand-raised. By myself. It is only the finest.”
Lucifer had cut a tiny portion, not bothering to wait for anyone else to be served, and popped it in his mouth. He smiled slightly and pushed his plate back. “You know what I'm really in the mood for? I'd really like a burger. I don't suppose you have anything like that around here?”
“You know,” said Dean, pushing his own plate back, “I could go for a burger too.” He nodded at his brother, who suddenly hopped up and went around to Crowley.
“Hey, yeah, let's see what we can scrape up,” said Sam, leading a fuming Crowley from the room. Dean looked at Castiel and nodded slightly. Castiel hurried over and picked up Dean's and Lucifer's plates, while the rest continued eating.
“You stole our waiter!”
Castiel swerved in time to avoid colliding with the loud guy from his own table. They guy held a wine glass, was slopping over as he swayed.
“Alastair,” said Lucifer evenly. “Why don't you get back to your table?”
“Hey, angel. Why did you abandon me?” Alastair slurred to Castiel.
“My name is Castiel De Angelus. It is not Angel. Nor is it Cas,” Cas told him, shooting a glare at Dean. Lucifer looked up in surprise.
Alastair took a lurching step towards Castiel, who deftly side-stepped. With a loud crash, Alastair ended up face down on the floor. There was a brief silence, and then the room erupted in laughter. He pushed himself up to sitting, rubbing his split chin, and glaring furiously at Castiel.
Dean shot to his feet. Lucifer remained in his seat, although his affable mien had suddenly dissolved. “Alastair,” he growled in a timbre that sent shivers through Castiel's spine. “Get back to your table. Now.”
Dean was looking at Castiel. He flicked his eyes towards the kitchen. Castiel nodded slightly and then, trying very hard to walk slowly and deliberately, headed back towards the kitchen, laughter echoing behind him.
Crowley was supervising a sous-chef in the preparation of a couple of hamburgers while Sam waited patiently at his side. Crowley looked over at Castiel as he set down the nearly untouched plates. “Just toss those out.” Castiel cringed, and his stomach rumbled again.
“Wait, can I have a bite?” asked Sam. “Mine is in there getting cold!” Castiel handed him a clean fork, and Sam bent over and served himself a big bite from his brother's plate. “Damn, this is delicious, Crowley!”
“Flattery … will get you everywhere. Yes, Castiel, go ahead! Better than having you serving with your stomach rattling like the oncoming Enemy.”
Castiel gratefully grabbed a fork and sent some pollo al ajillo towards his hungry gullet. Crowley turned back to the sous-chef to yell insults at his cooking ability.
“Does the Enemy really sound like that, Sam?” Castiel whispered.
Sam hopped up on the counter and put the plate on his lap. “No. They actually sound like nothing at all. By the time you see them, it's usually too late.”
Castiel shuddered.
“And sometimes … sometimes they travel underground! Then you just hear the ground rumbling. That's the mature ones. At least, I think it's the mature ones. I think they start off small and grow really large as they get older.”
Castiel stared at him, ignoring, for the moment, the delicious chicken on his plate. “Isn't that how things work with most creatures?”
“Nobody knows!” Sam threw his arms up, cause a bit of chicken from the end of his fork to go flying. “That's what's so cool about these creatures. We don't know how they reproduce, or even if they reproduce. We don't know about their lifespan. We don't even know what the hell they eat!”
“I thought they devoured men?”
“Meat can't be their source of nutrition, they'd die! I don't know. What we need to do, you know, is just follow them around for a while, see what makes them tick.”
“But … aren't you afraid of them?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You ask me, Cas, we're under a lot more danger from guys like Lucifer.”
“Other humans?”
“People. They're always the worst.”
Crowley had bustled over. “We have two … hamburgers.” He wrinkled his nose.
“I can take 'em out,” said Sam, reaching for the plates.
“No! Absolutely not. There are a few things, believe it or not, that my kitchen staff can still handle. Castiel?”
Cas hurriedly stuffed as much pollo al ajillo into his mouth as he could bear, and grabbed the plates.
“You didn't say you were half squirrel!” Sam laughed. “Thanks Chef,” he told Crowley. “We owe you one.”
“You owe me many!” the chef yelled after him as Sam followed along with Castiel.
“Where is Lucifer?” Castiel whispered as they neared the head table and saw the empty chair next to Dean.
“Aw, fuck him,” grumbled Sam. “Just don't tell Crowley. He'll stab something. Or somebody. We've got two burgers here,” said Sam as Castiel set down the plates.
“Awesome. I'm hungry as hell,” said Dean as Bobby glared. “Mmm. Lucifer doesn't know what he's missing. Thanks, Cas!”
Castiel gave a curt nod and stifled a garlicky burp. “Oh, so that's where my chicken went,” Dean whispered. Castiel blushed. “That's okay, glad it went to good use.”
Sam mouthed, “What the fuck?”, inclining his head at Lucifer's empty chair, and Dean shrugged. Castiel turned to go but noticed that some more kitchen staff were wheeling out a cart with the big cake the pastry chefs had whipped up for dessert. He turned around and decided to take the back way into the kitchen, hoping that Crowley hadn't yet dumped his plate of garlic chicken.
“Castiel De Angelus, I believe? Well, fancy meeting you here.”
He halted and turned around. “Lucifer,” he said quietly. How had the guy concealed himself in the shadows so well? It was creepy.
“Good, so we won't have to waste time on introductions. So how do you like your new job, scrubbing pots and pans for the Winchesters?”
“How do you know who I am?”
Lucifer smiled and extended a hand. “I have ears just about everywhere. I'm a big fan.”
Cas merely scowled at the extended hand. “A … what?”
“Why, your blades of course. De Angelus. You might not know this, but they're the only ones that really stand up to the Enemy. And that's my job.” Ignoring Cas's snub, he spread out his hands. “Protecting the world. We're the last line of defense!”
Castiel nodded, but didn't reply. He thought he should make an excuse and get back to the kitchen, but his legs didn't seem to work.
“So, we need to get you making blades, don't we?”
Castiel shrugged. “I don't know.”
“You don't know? I thought it would seem pretty clear. I know if you were living at my outpost, that's what we'd have you doing. Not scurrying around like some kind of … servant.”
“We're wait staff, not servants,” Castiel groused, not certain why the words had come tumbling out.
“You're defending the Winchesters? Really?”
“I need to get back to the kitchen.”
“Well, that's too bad. But I enjoyed our little chat.” Castiel had already turned around and headed towards the kitchen. “Castiel,” Lucifer called after him. “I hope we'll get to chat some more.”
Cas burst through the swinging doors, catching his breath.
“What's the matter, dude?” asked Kevin. “They trip you or something?
“Nothing. I'm fine.”
“We're supposed to be out serving cake. Hey, do you smell like … garlic?”
“Lucifer wanted hamburger.” Castiel turned and strode out of the kitchen.
“Wait. What?” Kevin followed behind.
Castiel made his way back to the banquet room. The men were all on their feet now, crowded together around the cake. Crowley was standing in back of it, looking it over pridefully as Dean held a knife and made some sort of speech. He must have just made a joke, as the men were laughing. Everyone had drunk their share of wine, and the room was noisy.
Castiel's eyes scanned the room for Alastair, as he wanted to avoid him. There he was, off in a corner away from where the main crowd had gathered, talking furtively with another man. To Castiel's surprise, it was Virgil, one of Dean's crew. Alastair, who suddenly appeared quite sober, was hanging on one of Virgil's shoulders, whispering something in his ear.
“Do you see that?” he asked Kevin.
“Those two? Figures. They're both dicks.”
“Virgil is from our staff.”
“So?”
“I think I need to warn Dean.”
“Warn Dean? Warn him about what?”
Ignoring Kevin, Castiel began to make his way around the back of the crowd, keeping an eye on Alastair and Virgil. He noticed that Garth was obliviously busing tables nearby, and he also noticed that Alastair and Virgil saw him too. He stopped, uncertain what to do. He wanted to get Dean's attention, but he didn't feel right abandoning his friend, not when both of the bullies seemed to have it in for Garth.
Castiel steeled himself and started threading back through the boisterous crowd towards the far corner. Alastair and Virgil split up, each one heading towards Garth from a different side. Castiel increased his pace, but Virgil reached Garth first. Garth straightened up from the table and, not seeming to notice Virgil, turned around as Virgil extended a foot to trip him. But for once the skinny teen noticed what was coming, and he managed to dance around without losing his balance. Virgil scowled and took a swing at Garth.
Castiel gasped.
Garth ducked and swung his tray full force into Virgil's midsection. The big man huffed and sunk to his knees. But then Alastair was on Garth, wrenching him by the back of his collar and throwing him like a rag doll. Garth smacked into the wall and started to sink down.
Castiel jumped up on the table and, threading through plates and dishes, ran across and hopped down just in time to grab Alastair by the back of the shirt as he lunged at Garth. Alastair grabbed Castiel by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall, where he suddenly froze when he felt Castiel's blade under his chin.
“Alastair!” At some point, people in the room had begun to pay attention. Lucifer and Dean had somehow whisked across the room to stand nearby. Alastair took a look at his boss and then, raising his hands, stepped back from Castiel.
“Castiel!”
Cas looked over to a red-faced Dean and lowered his blade. “Dean.”
“Get out of here. Now!”
“But, Dean-”
“Is said out! Now!”
Castiel breathed hard, glaring at Dean. He glanced over to make sure that Garth was all right. He was being helped by Kevin.
And then he turned and stalked out of the room, blinking back angry tears.
He marched down the hall and into the dormitory. He threw his few possessions into his bag, and, hiking it on his shoulder, grabbed his sword, and was away. Away from the fort, away from the desert, and most of all, away from Dean Winchester.
“I should get him.”
“I'll get him. We gotta get him before Lucifer tracks him down.”
Sam stood and watched his idiot brother tear around the room, tossing random crap into his bag. “You sure you're gonna need that letter opener, Dean?”
“I will when I stab him through the heart.”
“Dean! Look, it would be much quicker if I just go. I'm faster.”
“Yeah, 'cause you're built like a giraffe.”
“Actually, giraffes aren’t terribly fast. Their top speed-“
“Sammy! Do I look like I care?”
“And I'm the better tracker. And … to be honest, I'm not sure he's gonna wanna come back with you.”
“And he'd come back with you?”
“He likes me.” Sam gave a smug smile, partly because he knew it would make Dean slightly crazy. Not that he wasn't already slightly crazy.
There was a rap on the door, but before either brother could answer, they had a room full of Bobby Singer to deal with.
“What the fuck are you aiming to do, Dean?”
“He's going to get Cas,” supplied Sam.
“The fuck you are!”
Dean grimaced and picked up some salt-filled rounds. “What, did Chuck tattle on me again?” Dean tossed the rounds into his bag.
“Dean, those won't do much good without a rifle.”
“I know, Sam!”
Bobby planted his feet and crossed his arms. “And what if he don't wanna come back with you?”
“Then I'll hit the little son of a bitch over the head and drag his ass back here.” Dean zipped up his pack and grabbed a shotgun from the wall.
“Is there no appealing to your good goddamn sense?” railed Bobby.
“He's got no good sense,” smiled Sam.
“I'm going to get him,” Dean told him. “I'll be back soon.”
NEXT